The Only Friend I Have
by Mitchekie
Summary: An extension of a scene from Aly Teima's fan fiction story, "End at the Beginning", in which Brain desperately searches for a cure in light of his friend's cancerous state.


**Author's Note**: This is an extension of a scene in writer Aly Teima's fan fiction story, _End at the Beginning_. I was rather touched by the context of the story and wanted to dig deeper into the moment in which Pinky slips away. Dramatic scenes, bittersweet moments, and heartfelt relationships are some of my favorite situations to write, read, and observe on film, so I couldn't pass this one up. Included in this rewrite is some added development for Brain. As intelligent as he is, I find it hard to believe that he'd pass up an opportunity to do research, and experiment on, any possible cures for cancer in the wake of his friend dying, even if it all came to naught... which it does.

* * *

_Tap, tap tap tap, tap tap, tap..._

Brain's paws worked feverishly at the newly installed Amiga 1200 keyboard in the lab, his tap on the 'Enter' button equally ferocious as he submitted his entry.

[ NO RESULTS ]

"Blasted era," the mouse muttered under his breath. "Why did we have to be manufactured in this decade?"

The technology was infantile; the internet too new. Give it ten, perhaps fifteen, years and the change would be drastic. Man would have no need for encyclopedias, dictionaries, and thesauruses. All would be outmoded, for all would be compartmentalized into one place, digitally. There was only so much you could fit into the pages of a book, but, for now, that would have to do.

Angrily pushing away the keyboard with his foot, Brain shifted over to the pile of multicolored books stacked beside the beige-tinted computer. With some effort, he dislodged one of the smaller additions to the pile - _The Mouse in Biomedical Research - _and scanned its contents:

_Murine Cytomegalovirus and Other Herpesviruses_  
_Mousepox_  
_Reoviridae_  
_Chlamydial Diseases_  
_Pasteurellaceae_

Brain frowned. He went for another book. _Back to Eden_.

_Flip, flip, flip_.

A sharp, pronounced cough bit the air from somewhere in the room. Brain flinched a little at it; tried to ignore it.

_Flip, flip, flip_.

He stopped. There was something.

Capsicum. Excellent in, "prevention and cure of the common cold and flu", "... cancers...".

Intrigued, he dog-eared the page and went for another title in the stack: _Immunodeficient Mice in Oncology_.

Brain's ears drooped a little at the table of contents. It was... hefty, to say the least. This was going to take time. Time he didn't have. Normally, he would welcome hours on end spent in study, relish it even, save for now. But this was a lead, a glimmer of hope, and he had to start somewhere. If it had to be in this orange and gray hard-cover book, then so be it.

For hours he read, the sun dipping ever lower, threatening to kiss the horizon. Every now and then the normally still surroundings were punctured by a croup or moan. To Brain, each cough seemed louder than the next. It was aggravating. Not that little things didn't usually tick him off as it was, but this was different. This was a matter of life and death. If he couldn't stop the coughing... he didn't think anyone else could.

4:00 PM. Nothing. Nothing yet...

4:45 PM. A note of interest. He jotted it down on a piece of paper.

5:30 PM. Brain's chin slipped off his palm and slammed down on page 253, shocking him awake. He groaned. There was no way he could afford to let himself fall asleep like that again.

6:00 PM. Okay, now _this_... This was something. Not much, but... something.

Quickly, he jotted it down, excited. Reinvigorated. Pages went flying as he scooped up his little mountain of notes and dashed to the chemical section of the lab, eyes bright and full of renewed energy. This just might work...

Having climbed up onto a table littered with papers, potions, syringes, and all other manner of scientific paraphernalia, Brain looked about him at what he had to work with. It was altogether too much and not enough - too much of certain ingredients; not enough of others. And he'd have to raid the kitchen for pantry items, a feat much more difficult to do without his currently bedridden companion. Whatever. He'd manage. It's not like he had much of a choice.

xxxxxxx

Pinky coughed... hard. It racked his body like a cheese grater. Heh. Funny thought. Usually he ate cheese. Now he _was_ the cheese. He chuckled at the idea, which, unfortunately, only made him cough all the more. The force of each burning, biting expulsion made him grasp ever tighter at the thin piece of blanket he laid on in his cage. The aspen shavings probably didn't help. _That's all right_, he thought. It was a bit late to worry about that at this point.

On a whim, and because he had nothing else better to do, Pinky pressed a weak hand down upon his stomach, feeling at the firm, round growth that had slowly built up there over the last six months, eating at his insides, clawing at his intestines. Originally, he'd tried to suppress the symptoms, or, at least, explain them away. The nausea? Oh, he was just eating one too many helpings of pellets before bed, that was all. The pain? Cramps, probably. He did tend to run on his wheel too close to eating, after all. Eventually, though, the persistent nature of each symptom, plus the onset of others, became too much to ignore, even for Brain. Especially for Brain. Ever since Pinky had told him what was actually up, he'd spent night and day pouring through books for a cure, or else tending to Pinky's needs when the "cramps" became too much. It was rather touching, honestly. When this all first started Brain couldn't stop telling him to shut up whenever Pinky coughed during his routine, nightly speeches. Now he could focus on nothing_ but_ Pinky. For once, something had become more important than taking over the world.

Poor Brain. Despite the internal battle, one that was unlike anything he'd ever faced before, Pinky couldn't help but feel sorry for his friend. He could be a bit of a maniacal hard shell, at least to others, and perhaps he got a little too into his diabolical plans sometimes, but Pinky didn't see what was wrong with that, as long as nobody got hurt. He loved helping his friend; loved feeling like he mattered to someone. He only hoped that Brain knew that someone cared about him, too. Even more so, he hoped that Brain would be okay without him, or at least find a suitable replacement. Pinky, after all, had not been fighting this battle as long as he had for himself. He'd been fighting it for Brain. He needed a helper. He needed support. What would he do without it? But he'd fought it too long. It had taken every ounce of energy he had to put on a smiling face, to lift heavy objects for Brain even when he felt near to bursting from the pain, to feign hunger when he could barely eat another bite. He'd pushed too hard; weakened himself further. It had been six months. Six long, grueling months. And at the end of it all, here and now, he could barely lift his head to look out the window, something he deeply regretted, for he loved watching the sunsets. He hoped he could muster up enough strength within the next hour to do so. He had a sneaking suspicion that this sunset would be his last.

xxxxxxx

7:30 PM.

It was done. Finished. Brain slid off the lab table, careful not to spill the contents of the bottle cap in his hands. It was the smallest thing he could find to put the liquid medicine into; small enough for Pinky to easily sip out of. At least the blasted computer had been good for one thing: he was able to input his calculations there, in a program that would analyze if his treatment would, indeed, be a success... or not. It would take some time to produce a result, but Brain couldn't wait for that. He could only hope that his concoction worked; that Pinky would respond favorably to it.

He ran to the cage as fast as he dared, cursing when a drop or two splashed out onto the floor. Up a little makeshift ladder he went - up, up, up to another table that supported the ridiculously tiny cage he and Pinky had shared for what seemed an age. He only hoped it wouldn't take as long for the medication to take effect. He was certain it would work, but in what amount of time was anyone's guess._ Oh, please, let it be immediate_, he silently prayed.

"Pinky!" he yelled, jumping into the cage and up to his friend's resting place. "Pinky, I've found a cure this time. I'm sure of it!"

"That's great, Brain," Pinky smiled feebly, his response something of a ragged whisper. It was too late - too late for any potion to work at this point, he knew, but why crush his friend's hopes?

"If you don't drink all of this, I'll kill you myself," Brain teased darkly, making sure Pinky downed every ounce of the liquid. He could tell it tasted like crap, judging from his white-faced companion's expression, but he didn't care. He'd worked too hard on this thing. It was honestly a miracle he'd been able to concoct it in only an hour and a half.

"Let me know when it starts taking effect. I may have miscalculated, but it shouldn't take more than an hour."

Pinky's smile began to fade as he gazed at Brain sadly. An hour... Could he last that long? He didn't think so. Not at this stage. He had to tell him.

"Brain..."

"Actually, it might not even be that long," Brain countered, chuckling a little to himself out of fear more than anything. "Last time I worked this quickly the results were significantly more potent than I had imagined."

"Brain..."

"Then again, it's not like I've never lost a-"

Pinky put a hand to his friend's shoulder. Brain stopped. He looked up, into those large, blue eyes once so full of vigor. They said something differently now - they were desperate. Pleading.

"Not an hour, Brain," Pinky moaned, shaking his head sadly.

Brain's eyes widened. If he was saying what he thought he was saying...

"It... it might not be an hour. It might be less than that. I-"

But Pinky shook his head again, weaker than ever.

"But... But..."

Brain's eyes darted this way and that, searching the ground, searching Pinky himself, as if he'd find a satisfactory answer staring him right here in the face. Pinky couldn't recall ever having seen him look so lost in his life.

"Brain...," Pinky uttered softly, hand still resting upon his companion's shoulder. "It's all right." This time, he did manage a smile. He closed his eyes, rested his head back on the rolled up strip of cloth that served as a pillow, and took a deep, shaky breath. "It's all right."

Brain could hardly stand it. Here his friend lay, dying, admitting the inevitable, reassuring _him_, and he did it all with a smile on his face. How? If he were in his place, he'd probably be as restless as a ferret with anxiety. He glanced at the computer. It was half-way done with its analysis.

Friend... Had he ever told Pinky that? It's not as if he'd exactly shown his appreciation over the years. Pinky had started out as a lackey and had remained so since their very first day on the "job", but over time he'd become more than that: a welcome acquaintance; a moral compass, if you will; even just having someone to talk to, to voice his plans to out loud, was something of a comfort. But he'd also been there for him in the dark, when no one else would have. Somehow, no matter how bleak the situation, he always saw the bright side of things. The sun was always shining behind the clouds in Pinky's world - oftentimes, for Brain, a little too bright. But perhaps that was for the better. It was a contrast to the storm constantly brewing in his own head, and a necessary anesthetic, in a way.

And now that sun was fading. You don't know what you have until it's gone, they say, and only now did Brain realize how true that statement was. He hadn't known. Not really. And now it was too late.

The sun dipped ever lower, its desperate rays stretching out, breaking through the gaps in the trees, to cast their light upon the two mice pondering in the lab. Pondering about life, about the unfairness of it all, about death...

"Pinky... Please don't go," he whispered. "You're the only..."

He choked on his words. Stupid, how difficult it was to get them past his lips.

"You're the only friend I have..."

Pinky turned his head to look at him, curious.

"That's not true, Brain. A lot of people care about you."

"No, Pinky. A lot of people care about _you_. No one cares about me. I've never given them a reason to..."

Pinky blinked, saddened. Was that really true...? He supposed it was. He'd always just assumed that someone else cared about his friend like he did. That he wasn't the only one. Perhaps he'd been wrong.

"You've always... been there for me. I've never been there for you."

"You are now, Brain."

Brain looked at him. Pinky was grinning from ear to ear, with nothing but compassion etched across his face. Brain somehow managed to swallow the thick lump in his throat, albeit with some difficulty. He couldn't believe his best friend was calming him down in a time like this. Even on his deathbed, Pinky found some reason to smile.

Pinky glanced over at the window. The sun had almost set... yet he couldn't quite raise his head to see it properly. But Brain noticed... and raised his head for him. The sky was tinged with an array of pink, yellow, and orange hues. Beautiful.

"It's beautiful, Brain," Pinky voiced aloud. "Ah, I wish you could see it."

"I can, Pinky," replied Brain, except he wasn't looking at the sunset.

As Brain let him rest his head back on the pillow, he reached out to grasp his friend's hand in his. Pinky was right. The cure, if it even was one, would not work fast enough. He was too late. Too late... If all he could do was give him a source of comfort in the form of a handhold, by George, he was going to do it.

_In. Out. In... Out... In... out..._

Pinky's breathing had become more labored now, each breath a struggle. He could barely open his eyes; hardly speak in more than a whisper. It was a strange sensation, feeling the life slowly drain out of him. It was altogether frightening, yet... anodynic, somehow, as if encouraging him to let go. To stop fighting. And he had to admit, he was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of the facade. Tired of the pain.

He let it wash over him. Overtake him.

"Brain," he whispered, using what little energy he had to turn his head towards his friend. "You're not the only one... who's going to miss their best friend, you know."

Brain's lips trembled. He didn't know how much longer he could hold back what was fighting to come out.

8:00 PM.

_In... out... in... out... in... out..._

His eyes were still open, set on his friend, as he took his last breath, that silly smile still pasted on his face.

With a trembling hand, Brain closed his friend's eyes. He still hadn't let go of his hand. It was limp now, lifeless, but he didn't want to let go. He couldn't.

There was no point in holding back the tears anymore. They fell at his knees angrily, and he hated himself for it. Hated himself for the tardiness of his empathy. Hated himself for being too late. Hated himself for crying. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this low. Doubtless that there would ever be another time. The only living thing that had ever cared about him, that _he_ had ever cared about, was gone. His best friend was gone, and he had been too late to save him.

xxxxxxx

Back on the computer table, a green loading bar completed its run against the empty blackness of the monitor, flashing several times its consensus:

[ TREATMENT: SUCCESSFUL ]

[ CANCER: CURABLE ]

* * *

**Afterword**: All of the books referenced are actual books that were published in, or before, 1995, which was when _Pinky and the Brain_ aired. Same goes for the Amiga keyboard, which was manufactured in either 1994 or 1995. I highly recommend the _Back to Eden_ book, as it's chock-o-block full of herbal remedies that help relieve/cure a lot of ailments. (My mom owned this thing when I was a kid and still does. It's a great little resource.)

I apologize if either party is out of character in this. It's been a long time since I watched anything even remotely related to _Pinky and the Brain_ (save for the title sequence, perhaps). Did what I could based on memory and fan fiction readings.

For those who are wondering, I do not ship these characters at all, but I like the idea of Brain seeing Pinky as a close friend and just being too into himself to acknowledge it.

To Aly Teima: If you ever read this, I hope that you don't mind me pulling from a moment in your story and expanding upon it! You inspired me. :)


End file.
